


Days Melting Away into Nothing

by JuniorWoofles



Series: the sky opened up and down poured the pain - 4.22 Codas [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt Jake Peralta, Jake in prison, Minor Injuries, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Season/Series 04, References to Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniorWoofles/pseuds/JuniorWoofles
Summary: Jake didn't feel anything the first day. He was in a numb state since the gavel came crushing down. He barely remembered the panic setting in and the babble that started to fall from his lips. He could barely picture Amy’s silent tears, barely registered them at all in the shock and only realising afterwards when he was so far away from her. He barely registered the feeling of lead settling low in his gut.Or, Jake Peralta, ex-cop, is sentenced to fifteen years in prison. This is a story of the first seventy-three days*Can be read as a stand alone in the series*





	Days Melting Away into Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 of the series but can be read as a stand alone. This is the worst of the angst; the next one starts to lighten up a little.
> 
> Unbeta'd so mistakes are all mine. If you're interested in betaing for anyone I am looking

Jake didn't feel anything the first day. He was in a numb state since the gavel came crushing down. He barely remembered the panic setting in and the babble that started to fall from his lips. He could barely picture Amy’s silent tears, barely registered them at all in the shock and only realising afterwards when he was so far away from her. He barely registered the feeling of lead settling low in his gut.

What he could remember was this: Hawkins smiling at the stand, victorious; Rosa’s vice grip as she took his hand, like she knew that when she let go this would all be real and she'd lose her partner; the utter devastation he could see in Holt’s eyes, disconcernable to those who hadn't spent the past few years getting to know him; Charles looking like the wind had been knocked from him completely; and Amy’s lips pressing hard and fast to his before they dragged her away.

Amy Santiago had to be dragged away by security from a court of law for him.

Amy Santiago was dragged away by security because of him. Away from him.

He remembers little due to the shock and panic that fogged his brain and his vision but he remembers that clearly. He remembers the utter love of his life, the woman who loved him _so much,_ the one he lived with and worked with and loved so utterly and completely, crying out to him even as she let security take her away. She didn't struggle, she was too smart to do that, but she was babbling. Amy never babbled. Jake babbled. Amy didn't.

Amy babbled _I love you_ over and over but not once did say goodbye.

Jake didn't say it back. He stood frozen, his mantra of _coolcoolcoolcoolcool_ running straight out of his mouth with no filter but he didn't tell Amy he loved her. He hadn’t since before he walked into the courtroom for the last time.

He'd told her beforehand. It still seemed mainly hopeless then but they thought they'd found their light out of the darkness. He'd said it and she said it and for a second Jake was tempted to run away with her. (He knew she wouldn't let him even if she was tempted and it would make his case lost before it was started but he wanted to).

He'd told her when he thought he had a chance. He'd told her when he thought they had a chance. He'd told her when she was there.

He'd said it and it sounded like _my always_ and _I'm sorry_ and _Ames, I've never loved anyone before and I don't know what I'm doing but I need you to not leave me._

She'd said it and it sounded like _my forever_ and _don't apologise_ and _I'm always going to wait for you._

Jake said ‘I love you’ and the words tasted like ash, like goodbye and sorrow and regret. He said it and he wanted to pull her close and drive home and watch reality TV till 2 in the morning with Amy’s head in his lap and a book in her hands as he cards his fingers through her hair.

Amy said it and the words tasted bitter, like thick tears and heartbreak. She said it and she wanted to take him home and nearly burn the kitchen down in their attempts to cook and eat Chinese take away on the floor instead in a make-shift fort.

Jake stared at the prison cell and wanted to punch it until the pain lessened. He looked at the cell, _his_ cell, and the pain in his heart seemed to be screaming _Amy_ so loud it was ringing in his ears.

He focused on her face, picturing it in surprising clarity. He could picture Amy in the car, only a few hours ago. He remembered her, so beautiful and brilliant and _breaking,_ and just the thought that someone made him break Amy Santiago’s heart makes him finally stretch out his fist until it hits the wall. He registers the pain but it's a sharper, physical representation of all he's feeling inside so he does it again and again and again until his knuckles have been split open and are bleeding down his fingers and the one spot on the wall is covered in scuff marks of blood and light fist indents and then he lets his arms fall. The pain streaks up his arms and he screams, a short, angry noise that is cut off by a sob.

He doesn't remember stumbling over to the bed (if you can really call it that) and he doesn't remember falling asleep but the next thing he registers is waking up and not seeing Amy smile down at him.

He loved that she woke up before him. She would be up early and stay in bed reading, eyes wide behind her glasses, until she decided it was a normal enough time for Jake to be woken up at. She'd shake him awake gently and he'd wake up to see her loving face smile down at him.

It had only been one day and he missed her so much already it was like a dull ache.

This was going to be worse than Florida. Florida was heat and sweat and crying in a hot tub eating wet burritos and planning his way back to her. Florida was when they had planned to move in but didn't get the time to. Florida was when he was missing Amy in Texas and getting her back only briefly. Florida was like missing an arm for six months.

This was dull, gray emptiness and routine and hate and knowing there was nothing _he_ could do to get home. Here was knowing what it felt like to occupy the same space as Amy, to go home to an apartment that was no longer hers but theirs. Here was knowing what it was like to fall into domestic bliss and knowing it would have been waiting for him.

Unlike Florida this wasn't technically indefinite. Florida was days stretching into new days and it could have gone on endlessly. It should have. It was meant to. But Florida was figuring out a way to survive and a way of doing something wrong to make everything right. Unlike Florida he had a release date. He had one but it seemed as far away as forever. And this time there was nothing he could do but get through everyday. If he was going to get released from this nightmare it had to be Amy to get him out.

(He had faith in her, he did. It just seemed hopeless right now).

The first day Jake Peralta was in prison he went where they told him to go, ate when they told him to eat and slept when they told him to sleep. He was numb to all but the command in the sneering voices of the guards. He ignored the jabs that were thrown at him, the calls from those who recognised him. He barely felt them roll off his back, like raindrops when you're already underwater. He was drowning and the thought of Amy crying at him that she would wait made him keep putting one foot in front of the other and mechanically eat the slop they put in front of him.

Day one and Jake Peralta was a shell, a ghost in his own skin, numb to the constant ache of longing.

Day two and Jake kept walking and chewing and slept with one eye open after someone rattled at the door of his cell.

Day three and Jake walked faster, trying to get through the routine so he could _get out of there_ as much as he could.

Day four and Jake had to drag himself out of his bed.

Day five and Jake could recite his daily routine down to the minute.

Day six and Jake hated waking up. He started hearing the insults and the jabs and he started to observe the different traits of the guards he saw. He didn't say anything.

Day seven and Jake started cataloguing details in his head. He had nothing better to do than look and recount them back to himself.

Day eight and Jake didn't want to get up.  He just screamed into his pillow when he realised it had been more than a week already. The guards rattled already his door and shouted at him until he stood up, red rimmed eyes and a resigned weariness to his step.

Eight days into his prison sentence and Jake was waking up from the walking coma of numbness he'd been reduced to. Eight days in and Jake started to realise just how precarious the situation he was in was.

Day nine and Jake was listening.

Days ten, eleven, twelve and so on passed much the same. Jake kept to himself and listened. The words followed him down montone corridors and into his tiny cell. They stood as reminders of all he was and all he did. By day fourteen Jake realised he was in danger.

Day fifteen and Jake was trying to ignore the feelings of being followed and being watched. He knew there were eyes on him constantly. He was a cop, it was foolish to think otherwise. Day sixteen and Jake thought he was actually being followed.

Day seventeen and Jake was trying to rationalise his thoughts. He was talking to himself, calming things that sounded like the kind of things that would come from Amy’s mouth if she was here to help his panic.

Day eighteen and Jake spent most of his day missing Amy again with a renewed vigour and energy. He'd missed her constantly, wishing he could just see her smile at a good lam job or frown at a particular hard case or something. He needed a something.

It was his weakness right now and he couldn't afford to have one. He was a cop in prison, he was vulnerable enough. Thinking of Amy made him mopey and distracted. He got so focused on her that he let his guard down.

Day nineteen and Jake was attacked for the first time. He was walking down the corridor, guards watching from their posts at the doors, when the guy came at him. Really he should have known better than to turn when someone shouted his name but he forgot. And in that moment he forgot where he was and turned round.

The guy came at his instantly and everything turned hazy at the sides of his vision from the force of being punched. He was spluttering when the next blow came to his stomach and then the guy was being pulled off him and taken away, growling and spitting at Jake like being a cop was the worst thing he could be.

Maybe here in prison it was.

Another guard was holding his shoulder and frog marching him down the corridor to medical. There was almost too much force to his touch, like it was Jake’s fault he had been attacked.

One of the guards winced in sympathy a little when he got to medical and that's when Jake realised that guy really did have one hell of a punch. With the arm that wasn't being held he lifted his hand and gingerly touched the rapidly forming bruise around his nose. He couldn't tell if it was broken but it was tender and sore.

Someone in his head makes a joke about his big nose. It sounds like Gina.

The medic is nice enough about it, no reproachful looks or snide comments. He tells Jake to keep his head down in the future in a voice that suggests he knows Jake is a cop. It's not really a surprise. Jake expects the whole prison knows.

Jake doesn't say anything in response but he watches his shoes as he is walked back to his cell.

Day nineteen and Jake falls asleep with a bruise on his ribs and a bandage over his nose.

Day twenty and he doesn't speak to the medic.

Day twenty one and he still doesn't speak to the medic.

Day twenty two and the medic tells him he's all good now.

Day twenty three and it's the usual routine of walking and chewing and shrinking into the background.

Day twenty four and the bruises are healing. His nose almost looks normal, if only a little green and pink.

Day twenty five and he's hiding as much as he can while staying in the car view of guards. He knows he's being followed. He knows he's still in danger.

Day twenty six and he's not sure he cares anymore.

Day twenty seven and Holt is in his head telling him not to give in.

Day twenty eight and his eye is black and there's a cut on his lip. The medic doesn't look surprised. He gently checks Jake over and still Jake doesn't say a word.

Day twenty nine is a blur he doesn't remember.

Day thirty is missing the 99 so much he's daydreaming he's going into work tomorrow. Dream Terry is eating yoghurt, dream Hitchcock and Scully are napping, dream Gina is making Charles fetch her juice, dream Holt is through the door in this office keeping an eye out, dream Rosa goes over a case and dream Amy is smiling at him. It's enough. It's not nearly enough.

Day thirty one and he's alone. He's been in prison for one month with no outside contact, no calls or visits for the disgraced ex-cop. _Not yet,_ they tell him. _Not yet_ , he laughs.

He dreams of Amy and he wants to hold her close so bad that he curls in on himself and tries to fall asleep imagining. He doesn't sleep much that night, waking up every so often and realising that Amy’s not there.

Day thirty two and he wishes he had run. They could be in some cabin up in Canada by now. They could be together and away from all of this. It takes him too long to remember why he didn't just run away with Amy when he had the chance.

Day thirty three and he wonders how Rosa’s doing. He spends the majority of the day feeling guilty that he hadn't considered she could be doing worse than he did. She was late to the court that day. She wouldn't do that if it was important. She wouldn't have been late, unless she had been planning on running. Maybe he wishes she had run. Maybe he's glad she didn't. He's going through it alone but he's not going through it alone. He may not be with her but she's going through the same thing.

Day thirty four and he's nearly lost count of days. He's using his bruises to tell the time now and isn't that just the most cheerful thought he's had.

Day thirty five and he misses Ava of all people. He wishes he'd been there for her more. Her and the twins. Isn't that what a godfather was meant to do? Be there for his goddaughter when she needed him; to babysit so the Sarge could have a night off? He couldn't be there for her now. Didn't that leave Ava without a godfather? She had others who would be there for her but Jake couldn't be one of them. He thinks about the last time he babysat the twins. Amy was with him and they made cake to avoid tough conversations and panicked when they had to give them. The twins were big now, bigger than Jake thought they would be and their age surprised him. He should have visited them more than he did.

They were terrible parents, he thinks. They let the girls eat cake when they should have sent them to bed and got competitive with five year olds over a board game. They probably just needed more practice.

He hears Charles shout comments about babies and there's a lump in his throat that's making it hard to swallow.

He thinks about would bes until he falls into a restless sleep.

The days start to pass by in a blur. He's added guilt to his daily routine and he'd laugh at the irony of it if it wasn't so depressing.

He thinks it's day thirty nine when he realises that although he kept track of days in Florida he had pen and paper and normal people things.

On day forty he realises he can scratch the days on to his wall with a small, sharp rock he found near his tiny window. He scratches forty after counting and recounting the best to his ability but he doesn't know if it is correct or not.

He asks the medic the next time he's in. It's the first time Jake has really spoken to him. He checks a chart and tells him it's been forty five days. Jake doesn't say anything to that. The medic doesn't say anything else either.

It's not until he has to be held in medical overnight that he has a proper conversation with the medic. It's around day sixty, the two month mark, and the isolation is driving Jake crazy. He knows he should speak to someone but he's having a hard enough time keeping out of the way of those who are in here because of the 99 that he doesn't really have a chance to find an outlier who won't just beat him for being a cop.

That's why he's in the medical room again, on the two month anniversary. Some guy figured out why Jake's face was so familiar and went for him because he was brought in by someone at the 99. From the way the guy was speaking about the uptight girl who arrested him Jake figures it was Amy who arrested the guy. The irony of that hurts as much as the blows and he's missing Amy as well as feeling physical pain.

He doesn't realise how much he's missing her until the next morning. The medic is there when he wakes up and after he gives Jake water he turns to him and says, “Hey, man.” The fact he's never called Jake man before sends alarm bells ringing especially when he follows it up with “Can I ask you something?”

Jake nods hesitantly; on alert now that he's talking to someone. This feels more like a conversation than an interrogation or orders and it's been a while since someone wanted to talk to him for a good reason.

“Who's Amy? You muttered her name a couple of times. Is it your girl?” He looks at Jake, as though he's trying to work out if Jake will tell him or not. Jake looks back as though he's trying to decide the same thing. Eventually he decides to sit up a little further on the bed and answer.

“Amy’s the love of my goddamn life,” he mutters miserably. The medic notes the tone and tries to smile in sympathy but Jake's not looking at him. He's staring very determinedly at his hands.

“She might still be there when you get out. You won't be in here forever you know?”

“I know. It's just I shouldn't be here. I know I'm not supposed to say that or whatever but I should be out there with her doing our jobs and living our life. I just had to leave her.”

“Look, man, everyone here knows you were a cop,” the medic said as an unnecessary reminder.

“Do you have a point?”

“Look I've read your file and I guess I just think maybe you did some wrong. But it sounds like you didn't plan on being here. Not with your girl and your job.”

“I thought you weren't meant to talk about it?”

“I'm not. But this is the fourth time you've been in here on about four weeks and I'm beginning to worry. Some guys have vendettas against each other and you see one or the other in here every other week. Some guys just have pent up rage and lash out at the nearest guy. Some just like having power. But you're the target of so many people here, not just because you're put some of them in here and they know it but just because they know you were a cop.”

“You got any advice on how to get the target of my back or are you just gonna lecture me on things I already know?”

“I didn't mean to lecture you. I just thought maybe you might want to talk to someone once in a while and if you're going to end up in here anyway regardless of what you do.”

“So basically you've no way of stopping me being the personal punching bag but you're here to what, give me sympathy? Real helpful, doc.”

“Peralta, it's okay to want to talk. And out of everyone here I probably believe your innocence most. You were framed right?”

Jake just blinked at the guy until he shrugged. “Like I said, I read your file. And I've seen you have bad nightmares and I gave you a medical exam the first day you were here. Some guys look torn up about landing here but those are mainly the young ones that are leaving their moms to fend for themselves. You looked torn up in a different way, like you couldn't believe you were here. And I've seen that look. I see that look on a daily basis. Usually it's mixed with guilt. But yours wasn't. And then you became the new favourite punching bag. Figured you were either the dumbest bugger on the planet or the unluckiest. So you wanna talk we talk.”

“Aren't the tapes on?” Jake said once he'd digested the information.

“Yeah but there isn't audio. Couldn't afford audio in the medical and assumed it wouldn't really be necessary.”

Jake took a deep breath in and let it out through his nose. “Next time.”

“I hate that we both know that's going to happen.”

Day sixty three and Jake was back in medical again, getting checked for a possible concussion and a black eye.

“I didn't even recognise the guy but he knew who I was. Kept saying stuff about the weird guy from my old precinct. I figured it was my best friend. Maybe it was arrest from when I was undercover, or when I was in Florida.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Why not? I went undercover in the Mafia for a bit. Wasn't too bad, I know a guy who did worse. Much worse,” Jake added to himself, so soft the medic barely heard. “And, uh, I was in witness protection in Florida for six months and it was previously the worst thing that happened to me.”

“You can go on if you want,” the medic said, still shining the light around.

“My girlfriend came to rescue me. She's brilliant. She shot me in the leg. I mean I told her to and she did but it was still pretty bad ass. I love that she shot me in the leg. Well kind of. It hurt but it put us back into Jake And Amy mode and I guess we need that. I guess I'm just freaking out a little about it all.”

“Being apart from her?”

“Yeah that. It's the worst feeling and if I knew how many beatings it would take to see her again I'd take them all without complaints.”

“She hasn't been to see you?”

“If she has they haven't been telling me. I doubt she’ll come though. Too risky for her career. I know she passed the sergeant's exam. Probably aced it too. The funny thing is at the time she was worried about how that was going to change us. Now look at me.”

“I can find out if she came.”

“You can?” Jake asked, a little bit of hope seeping through his veins again.

“Would you rather know for sure?”

“Yeah, I guess I would.”

Day sixty nine was not the day Jake went looking for trouble. He wasn't stupid enough to do that and he didn't know how long it would take the medic to find the visitor record.

Day seventy was also not the day Jake went looking for trouble but it was the day trouble found him. Trouble found him in the form of two guys he'd put away for robbery two years ago. They caught him off guard down a deserted corridor; coming at him quick and grabbing his arms and holding them behind his back so he couldn't fight off his beating. The guy beating him was relentless, switching arms and angles constantly so Jake felt like his entire body was about to become one giant bruise. He passed out in the corridor, even as he fought against his drooping eyes.

Day seventy one and Jake woke up in medical, having no idea how long he'd been asleep for.

“You're awake now. That's good,” the medic said as he entered the room. “You've been out for about eighteen hours at this point.”

Jake groaned in response, every muscle in pain.

“I'm going to recommend that you don't move for another couple of hours at the very least. You've got a couple of broken ribs, bruised ribs and a little bit of internal bleeding.”

“That's where the bleeding is supposed to be,” Jake murmured to himself, as though he was remembering something.

“You've been given pain meds so you're a little out of it so just take it easy for the next day or two. I expect you'll sleep most of it anyway.” Jake thought he saw Terry smile his _I don't know how to deal with you Jake but I am trying_ smile but then he was gone and Jake was asleep.

Day seventy two and Jake took a long time to blink his eyes open. They were stiff from disuse and he had to go slowly to try to adjust to the bright light above his head. _The light isn't usually this bright_ , he thought. It was when he tried to sit up and his body screamed in pain that he remembered he was still in the medical ward. He flopped back down quickly, wincing at the movement. He lay there and looked up at the ceiling. The light mockingly shone back down on him. It was too bright and it reminded Jake of Florida. He'd hated the sun there too. He'd hated the entire state too but that wasn't the point.

Just as Jake was back to cursing the entire state of Florida again, the medic walked back in and it struck Jake then that he didn't know the guy's name.

“What's your name?” Jake asked as soon as the guy was close enough to hear him.

“Tom.”

Jake smiled. Tom was an okay name. It wasn't Charles or Terry or Ray or something that he wouldn't be able to deal with. Tom he could deal with.

“So, Jake you're going to be kept here for at least two weeks so I can keep an eye on you. It might be longer if you need it to heal. I'm telling you now that I will be getting you as much time in medical as I possibly can because I'm not having you getting injured again within a week of healing. You understand?”

Jake understood. He was going to be protected for a few weeks and then he'd get punched again. At least he would be safe for a little bit. He realised the medic was still staring at him and he nods his assent at understanding. The medic smiles softly before coming round to fiddle with Jake's pain med.

“By the way I checked the visitors book for you. No one called Amy came but there was a Dora Buckingham who came every week at the same time for six weeks looking for you. She left after half an hour each week. Guess no one told you.”

 _Dora._ Jake wanted to laugh at that.

“You have some letters by the way. I managed to get them all for you. Someone sure is out to get you, Jake,” he said as he produced a bundle of letters. They were all ripped open but still in the envelopes and Jake noticed Amy’s handwriting immediately. He pulled the one at the top of the pile towards him and shook it out of the envelope as gently as he could.

_Jake,_ it started and even seeing his name in Amy’s neat script was enough to make tears form in the corners of his eyes.

_We're assuming you aren't getting these. We haven't heard from Emily either so we don't know if she's allowed to write. Maybe you're not. We're worried. I didn't come this week. I couldn't face another rejection. If you're worried about me seeing you in prison get over it. I want to see you. I need to see you. I'm going crazy in our apartment. Yes, it's still ours. I said I'd wait. I know you feel like it's hopeless but always remember Coral Palms. You left your job there and came home when it was the right time. You'll see. Gerald Jimes sends love, as do the rest of the family._

_Yours,_

_Dora_

_Xxx_

 

Jake's crying by the time he finishes it. It's only the first letter and he has a small pile sitting in front of him. There's two months of letters from his family that he never got because the universe is determined to make his life a never ending series of upset. He rifles through them, just to see the sign offs. The Ebony Falcon and Co have a couple, complete with childish drawings; there's one from Bey in a birthday card; Charles keeps changing his name but it's his handwriting; and Gerald Jimes has written one for every week, as methodical as Dora herself. He wants to read them all, to feel connected to his family again. But he also wants to savour them, not knowing when he'll get another letter bundle.

But Jake was never any good at pacing his presents so he starts to open them, flipping the bundle so the oldest is nearest him.

The first one is from Amy and there's tear stains on some of the words so he has to strain to read some of it.

_Jake,_

_This is hard to write. I just can't believe I'm having to write it at all. We've been together for ages and no time at all and I hope the universe stops hating on you pretty soon._

_I know you did the right thing and that's what you believe. I believe in you. Don't give up._

_We're helping our neighbour Gerald Jimes look for the man in the yellow sweater who killed his wife. He said he told you the story at Thanksgiving so you'd know about it. It's hard going trying to get through something like that but Jimes is strong. It's a big case and it's taking up most of our time so the rest of the family may not be able to come visit. I'll still come._

_Please be there. I know you won't want me to see you like this but I think we both need this._

_Remember our first date? The first one but not the one we actually count from? The one that didn't count?_

_Think of that night. Of those first dates, the ones we count and the ones we don't count but_ do _count._

_That's all I have now. An empty apartment and all the memories of you. Drink water, babe, and eat even if it's horrible. Just keep healthy, you know I'll worry._

_I love you. And just like Coral Palms I'll be there waiting when you come home._

_I'll be there in a few days. You're allowed visitors so please come see me. I want to see your face. I need you to laugh. That's why I love you, remember? Because you make me laugh,_

_Yours always,_

_Dora_

_Xxx_

Jake's meds are kicking in again but he manages to fight them enough to read the first letter in his pile from the infamous Gerald Jimes.

 

_Jacob,_

_I am writing to you about the matter of the man in the yellow sweater. I believe you know the story well. I do not wish to trouble you with this trivial matter but I know that you encouraged me to seek help over the matter in the first place. I have decided to seek out the man in the yellow sweater so my wife can have peace. It may take a while but I am determined that we will find him._

_We are also trying to get in contact with my niece Emily due to her travels. We hope she is well but she's out of reach. We're hoping she'll come home soon._

_Your family is missing you. Your mom has been of great comfort, especially to Dora. I believe they both needed it. Your cousin Bey is still working but she'll be on maternity leave in the next couple of months._

_We hope you are as well as can be._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Gerald Jimes_

It's the same words Amy had said, the same calming and reassuring intent and they bring a new peace to Jake’s mind that isn't just from the pain meds. His family still care. They're still trying to right the wrong. His family are fighting for him, him and Rosa both. They're not going to let Hawkins win. They're the 99 and they always come home to each other. Nothing has kept them apart. Not Wuntch or Figus, not fiancées or boyfriends, not Texas or Florida, and certainly not one crooked cop who thought she could rip the 99 apart so she could get away with whatever illegalities she wanted to.

Jake remembers their faces and the feeling of _home_ he got when they were together. He remembers stealing Medals of Valour and bribes and dumb bets. He remembers Coolest Kill and Boyle’s heartbreak. He remembers Sophia and Jenny Gildenhorn. He remembers Pimento and Ava and Genevieve and Nikolaj. He remembers getting close with Holt and falling in love with Amy. The letters remind him in stunning clarity of the life and the people Jacob Peralta has waiting for him on the other side. He may not remember the little details: the exact shade of the building or the smell of his apartment, but he remembers what family feels like.

Day seventy three and Jake Peralta wakes  with a small smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was at Disneyland (I know, cheerful) so if there's issues with pacing or anything let me know. All kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x  
> Come yell at me about Jake on Tumblr: @cas-impala-pie


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